I read his journal and I get sick because I feel like I'm in Italy with him, by his side. Almost like I'm seeing this through a two-year-old's eyes, walking down the cobblestone streets and holding his hand. When he tells about his e-mails, I feel like I'm looking over his shoulder, reading his words. "I did this today. I did this yesterday....etc." It's really wild. I think he felt the exact same way as I do before he left. Like this isn't really happening. Every step made in this journey feels like I'm getting closer to something, but i don't know what.
It's like there's a light at the end of this long tunnel of a year, and I'm running and running. When I passed my pannel interview, I felt like someone came through from the other side and told me how great it is in the light. When I was formally accepted I felt the same thing. When I was told that Argentina was my host country, another person came through, but this time, they had a map to help it seem not so far away.
And it's not far away. I think about it, and the time frame of when I'm leaving is damn close. It's only 5-6 months now. Or 22 weeks at the minimum. It gives me a headache.
Philip says things aren't better nor are they worse. He said that you have bad days and okay days, but when you have those bad days, you want to e-mail home and say: "This was a mistake. I hate it here." He says that when he looks back on them about a week later, and notices even the most minute change.
He makes the most innocent mistakes. For example, when the lady at the counter is done ringing up his panini and caffe, he says 'congratulations!' instead of 'see you later!'
It's like going into Oz....
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